


Wetwork.

by janboy



Category: League of Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janboy/pseuds/janboy
Summary: Camille Ferros intervenes in a Piltovan Baron's plot to undermine the Maritime trade industry.





	Wetwork.

The city rarely slept. When the northern, upper-class areas of Piltover went dark during the night, the lower-class clusters still glowed brightly. Camille could see it all. Blots of yellow-light scattered across the horizon about her. The engineering quarter still glowed with life; in the heart of Piltover, their lights never went out.

There was the Jameson Market, Camille remembered walking with her mother and father along those streets. Even at that age, with storekeepers and stall vendors shouting about their products and trinkets, Camille didn’t let any distraction control her. Her head remained forward, ears only perked to hear the words of her parents.

‘Piltover is a cleverly disguised circus.’ Her father, Rhodri, said. He motioned with his hand to the side, and Camille’s eyes followed. A dispute between two men, both wearing brown aprons and adorned with goggles and hefty tool belts. One of them held a contraption in his hand. Small grey clouds of smoke billowed from it, sparks of electricity crackled from the exposed wiring. The man holding the device stepped forward and pushed the other in the chest, the other responded with a violent swing of his fist, and knocked the other to the ground. The scuffle only carried on for a few moments before the police intervened.

Camille looked back towards her father, confused. Rhodri saw the look on her face and he smiled.

“Piltover is loud. The people, the lights, the technology, the rumors, it’s all noise Cami,” he reached forward and patted her cheek lightly, “do not let yourself be distracted.”

The brisk, nightly breeze prompted a turn of Camille’s head. She blinked, and those memories were pushed away. She didn’t need distractions tonight, not from her mind.

From the roof of one of many skyscrapers, Camille’s view was unobstructed. She continued to scan over the skyline towards the right, until the buildings in her sight became progressively shorter, nearing the lifts and divide which marked the descent into Zaun. Along that divide, eastward, was Piltover’s main wharf. That was her target.

After a quiet hiss, two spools of metal-wire pushed outward from Camille’s hips. She took the hooked-head from the center of the spool in both her hands, and she tossed both to the ground. The heads made a thunk as they hit the stone roof, and the wire reeled them in until they were hooked to the lip of the building’s edge which she stood upon. Camille tugged once on the thick wire. It barely budged, snug. After a soft exhale, Camille stepped off the edge and dived into darkness.

With the speed and grace that Camille traversed Piltover’s rooftops, it was easier to assume a flapping of wings to accompany her. Instead, only the near-silent mechanical ‘whirring’ of her hookshot filled the air. Firing, locking, swinging. Momentum and agility were the major agents in her travel. After swinging from one building to the other, she hung in the air long enough for her hookshot to reel itself back in and fire forward again, and from that zenith she would enter the full speed of her downward arc and swing again.

She landed on the rooftop of a considerably large factory building. From the smell in the air, it was a seafood processing and distribution center. The breeze greeted her again, but this time it carried with it a distinct scent of sea-salt. Camille walked across the roof on her steel ‘stilettos’ and stopped at the edge. To her left was the sea. Beneath the moon, the water was dazzlingly bright. Silver-white light highlighted the lapping water at the various piers and against the hull of the multitude of docked ships. But, ahead of her, was the warehouse.

Hired help was steadily becoming its own bustling profession in Piltover. Muscle, bodyguards, bouncers, hitters, even assassins, each of them had a market that was exceptionally profitable amongst the aristocrats and barons of Piltover. Camille’s connections were spread and hidden amongst those networks, so she kept specific tabs on who was hired by who, and for what.

So when Camille learned that Baroness Melissa had hired a sizable group of muscle from Zaun, she took it on herself to investigate further.

What she found was... Disappointing.

Camille sized up the distance between the factory rooftop she stood on and the warehouse across from her. It was more than a hundred feet easily. The distance itself, and the drop in height from her rooftop to the warehouse. She looked about and saw no other buildings from which she could travel the distance from. A sigh slipped from her lips, her right hand hovered by her hip, fingers extended. Her grapple-wire extended again and she took the grapple-head and idly swung it in small circles at her side. One of Camille’s fingers rose and she tapped it against her lip. Then, she turned and walked to the right side of the building which was longer and faced inwards towards Piltover, and she shot both hooks into the ground.

Baroness Melissa was a long-time holder of second place in the maritime trade. Her competitor, Baron Heshi, held a majority of the power in the seafaring trade and has held it for decades. It seemed that the Lady’s patience and civility had finally run dry. She hired the Zaunite muscle to gather on the wharf coincidentally on the night that a collection of Heshi’s ships were docked for the trading season. A hit of this size would weaken Heshi’s grip considerably, long enough for Melissa to move in and take over.

Normally, Camille would let the houses of Piltover continue their squabbles and back-handed deceit as long as it benefitted Piltover as a whole. But, Baroness Melissa was immature and unfit to hold such responsibility. With her at the helm, her short-sightedness and greed would hamstring Piltover’s growth. That’s why her scheme simply couldn’t come to be.

She was an imposing figure with those augments, at 7’2” it was surprising that Camille could move with such dexterity on a blade’s edge. Here she walked on the very edge of the rooftop, when pointed edge after the other, stepping backwards from where she set the hooks in place. There was a single guard on the rooftop of the warehouse. Moments prior, Camille watched as he idly strolled from corner to corner. He wasn’t anything of significance, but the hextech communicator at his hip was. He would be the first to go.

The hooked-heads were embedded into the center of the rooftops right-side. She stood on the back right corner, the grapple wire from her left and right hip held in her hands. There was some slack in the grip, required for a maneuver of this style. Without hesitation, Camille stepped off the edge.

Wind whistled past her face. A few renegade strands of hair slipped free from her clip and flew freely. Camille let the wire grow more and more slack, deepening the arc of her swing so that the street and storefronts along the sidewalks came dangerously close to view. Only a few souls inhabited the streets along the factory. As Camille zipped by, men and women huddled in tarps sitting about open fires didn’t raise their head or spare the blink of steel a second glance. When the distance between Camille’s legs and the street closed from stories to a handful of feet, she finally retracted some of the wire so that her swing began pulling upwards, and she began her ascent.

Momentum was her ally. Building windows on either side of Camille became blurred. She waited until she was 3/4ths of the way through her ascent before she pressed a button on her hip and detached both grapple-heads. The whirring returned as the wire automatically started to recoil into the spools at her hip. Camille brought her legs together, both pointed forward, and her body was angled horizontally as she flew high in the air. It was silent now. She was high above the street that separated the fish factory and the target warehouse. She was another glimmer in the sky. 

Light from the moon reflected off of her legs, sparkling high above the street and buildings. Then, her spine arched and her body twisted. She went from a horizontal, legs forward, speed-gathering position to a twist and turn so her arms spread into a swan dive. Another descent now, one that required precision.

Head first and arms extended to either side, Camille plummeted quickly towards the warehouse rooftop. Just as she had calculated, the rooftop guard would be making his round to the nearest street-side now. He noticed the speeding assailant all too late, and as he was raising the weapon at his hip, Camille’s arms shot forward and she tackled him to the ground.

Momentum carried her again, and she used his body to roll and cushion her landing. His body a landing-pad for Camille to roll upon and slide to her feet. The wind was knocked out of the guard’s lungs with Camille’s sudden impact and his weapon skittered across the ground. It was an EP-800, an electric pistol. Camille slowly rose to her feet and brushed off her front and hands. She walked purposefully, slowly, towards the coughing and prone guard. The man’s face was blanched like parchment as he looked upwards and saw the intimidating Camille standing above him. Either side of his head, was her bladed legs. Blade-edges glistened, sharp enough to cut air.

Silence hung between them. Camille looked down at him. His beard was unkempt, and she could smell the tobacco in his breath. Still though, the man didn’t move an inch. In fear that one of those legs would come down on his head. At least he was smart.

The silence was broken when the hextech communicator at his hip sputtered to life.

“Ollie, we heard something up there. All clear?”

The man, Ollie, looked up towards Camille with fear in his eyes. He didn’t move to answer it, or even reach for the radio. Still he laid, as if asking for permission on what to do next. Slowly, Camille lowered herself down, and her right leg slowly bent so that the edge of her legblade pressed lightly against his neck.

“Tell them you tripped, and you may just live to see tomorrow.”

Ollie gulped, the movement of his neck in that action raised his skin to press for a split-second against her leg. A nick of blood was drawn and Ollie’s breath caught in his throat. Camille held her glare, unfazed.

Ollie reached for the radio and pressed the speech-button on the side of the device.

“Y-yeah I-I,” Camille’s gaze hardened and she pressed the blade down threateningly against his neck. Her eyes spoke for her: Quit the stammering.

“Yeah I just tripped. We’re good up here.”

“Alright Ollie, stop chewin’ that shit and watch where you’re walking.”

Ollie exhaled. He dropped the radio to the ground and now looked back up to Camille again.

“T-there. I can take the fire-escape ladder down and you can do whatever it was you were gonna do. Not a word from me Ferros.”

Camille could see the dread instantly wash over his face, as soon as he finished speaking. An audible tut, tut, tut, left Camille’s pursed lips. Camille’s leg didn’t move from its position, but her hand dropped to his face and she patronizingly patted his cheek.

“My dear Ollie, if you hadn’t recognized me I might have let you live.”

The next strangled plea from Ollie’s lips was instantly cut short as she pressed her leg downwards. Like the executioner’s axe, her blade severed his head cleanly and without resistance. She didn’t tarry. With some unhidden disgust on her face, Camille picked up the severed head and walked to the center of the rooftop. 

There was a glass window that revealed the center of the warehouse, curiously she peeked downwards. All the outside windows were covered so that the lights inside couldn’t be seen by passersby. There were a number of crates and tables strewn out in a circle. A number of men and women inside sat by gaslighting, preparing weaponry and crude augmentations. There was a considerable arsenal down there, Baroness Melissa must’ve provided generous funding for them to be outfitted as well. She counted twelve in total.

Camille’s freehand rose to lightly rest on the hex-crystal in her chest. That quiet hum centered her, calmed her mind. Then she rose her leg and smashed it against the glass window. It shattered. A harsh sound in the sky, a break from the blanket of sweet silence. Glass splintered and fell down towards the warehouse floor, and the breaking glass prompted a startled shout from some of those downstairs. After a moment, Camille nonchalantly tossed Ollie’s head down as well. Once that wet thud of skin, skull, and flesh, splattering across the warehouse floor reached Camille’s ears, she leapt down the opening.

Her legs and arms were kept tight to her form. She was an arrow. Sharp legs piercing the air beneath her and letting it whistle about her. As she dropped, she watched as the hired-help scrambled from their leisurely positions and ran about the warehouse. Some of them rose their weapons and fired at her. But their bullets and crackling energy went astray, she was simply moving too fast. Camille’s body shifted slightly, and both her pointed legs plunged into the unfortunate soul she had aimed for upon leaping from the roof.

The man’s body seemed to collapse inwardly. The sheer force and power behind her drop crushed his torso and his legs and arms almost entirely torn from their sockets. Camille’s legs broke into the very stone of the warehouse floor slightly, and blood gushed upwards from his torso onto Camille’s legs and chest.

The surrounding faces were stunned momentarily. The grips on their weapons slackened for a moment as they stared at Camille, and the nearly destroyed body about her legs. But that hesitation was brief, they were hired ‘professionals’ after all. They rose their weapons and fired.

But Camille was quicker.

Her hookshot fired upwards and she was pulled towards the ceiling. Their bullets only ended up in a deadly and violent crossfire, taking down one another in the process. Their heads whipped around and they scanned the shadows of the ceiling for the Intelligencer. But they looked in all the wrong places. Camille clung to the ceiling before firing her grapples again towards one of the sidewalls, from there she leapt to the ground and plunged her leg into the back of an unsuspecting mercenary.

The others turned and Camille tossed the screaming Zaunite off of her leg. She leapt into the air, body twisting into a tight roll. Once, twice, three times she spun. She could hear bullets being fired, whizzing past her body and glancing off of her legs, then she unwound from her deadly twirl like a viper and slashed her leg downwards. The firing man’s body was nearly cleaved into two, shoulder and leg being sliced off entirely. Only skin clung precariously and somewhat comically from his neck.

She looked forward. To her surprise, there weren’t any mercenaries ahead of her. Then she heard pairs of running footsteps and a shout in the air. From the high shelves that lined the warehouse walls, Zaunites with augmented claws and gauntlets leapt down towards Camille.

A hum became a roar, and the hex-crystal in her chest exploded to life. A wave of cyan-blue static erupted from her core, lighting her body and spreading outwards into a deadly sphere. Crackling electricity enveloped the leaping Zaunites and paralyzed them in the air. They dropped to the ground like flies, twitching in place. Camille walked towards each in turn and drove her blades into their chests.

“Ah, you fuckin’ Piltie!”

Camille’s head snapped towards the direction of the voice, and saw three men holding a large cannon. The one who spoke, at the base of it, loading a large missile into the weapon. She thought quickly. The grapples at her hips extended again, and she shot them towards the group. A surprised scream confirmed they hit, and the hooked ends dug into one of the Zaunite’s chest. The one who kneeled on the ground, aiming and supporting the cannon. The wires retracted rapidly and the man was yanked through the air, straight towards Camille’s raised leg. 

He was skewered. Camille’s face and the Zaunite’s came nearly face to face, and she watched as the blood left his body and pooled on the ground. Shock, surprise, then fear, succumbing to the unwanted embrace of death all swam in the man’s eyes, all while Camille remained impassive.

Camille bent her leg and the man slid off of it, onto the ground. Without their third, the cannon collapsed to the ground and was rendered useless. She approached them slowly. They were caught in two minds, fight or flight. But the numerous bodies littered about the warehouse provided a strong argument against the former. Instead, both of them simply rose their hands into the air and dropped to their knees.

“You win lady you win! We’ll tell you anything you want to know! You win!”

Camille stood before the pair with one of her hands folded behind her back. Her left hand rose to her chin, finger tapped against it. Against her gloved hand was a few flecks of blood.

“I already know all that you do. I know infinitely more than you. So it seems you have nothing to offer me.”

“Now hold on--”

One swipe, and both heads were lopped off. Like the leather kickballs that the children of Piltover kicked about on street corners, the two men’s heads tumbled along the ground. Camille turned away from the headless corpses, still, there was disapproval on her face. There was something off. She looked around the warehouse, towards the walls and shelves, then towards the bodies.

That was only eleven.

One of them was missing. 

The rusty creek of an un-oiled hinge broke the silence again, and Camille heard a door being yanked open and closed shut in the back of the warehouse. There was her answer.

She sprinted after the straggler. The wharf air met her again and her head whipped from left to right before she spotted the fleeing Zaunite, running down the wharf edge. Camille ran after him, and she saw as the man took a sharp right and continued along the wharf’s edge. She gathered more and more speed, and before turning the corner she leapt onto the wall, ran a few steps then jumped in the opposite direction, simultaneously shooting her hookshot into the wharf barrier wall so that the sudden tension and momentum kept her from falling into the ocean water beneath her. She swung in a small arc, and she pulled the grapple-wire to turn her body horizontal, bladelegs reflecting against the surface of the water.

The fleeing man came into view. And like a vengeful demon from the ocean itself, Camille’s swing came to a close as she buried her legs into the running man’s body. She buried the blades into him, the momentum slamming her into his torso and pinning him against the stone barrier. The Zaunite gargled and coughed, spitting blood onto Camille as she remained with her legs skewered into him.

“Bastard,” she hissed.

Camille pushed backwards off of the wall and went into a backhandspring, twisting gracefully to get back on her legs. The Zaunite’s body slumped to the ground against the wall. Broken stone painted with crimson blood, dragged down messily to him. Still, he tried speaking and coughing, pitifully shaking and spitting blood all about the ground.

“At least,” she muttered as she grabbed the front of his shirt, “die with some class.”

She dragged him across the ground and tossed his body into the water. Was it personal resentment for spitting onto him? Camille rose her hand and wiped some of his spittle and blood from her cheek.

Yes.

Camille returned to the warehouse and procured a pre-prepared note from the inside of her shirt. She placed it on one of the tables.

 

This your first and last warning, Baroness.

-C

 

She took one last look at the interior of the warehouse, then she disappeared into the shadows.


End file.
